When All That Remains
by KalenCaelli
Summary: Hawke struggles to come to terms with all that has happened with her mother. Will a certain Rivaini be able to help, or does fate have other plans in store for her. Surprise - Second Chapter posted!
1. All That Remains

**Title: **When All That Remains

**Rating: **M

**Disclaimers: **I do not own Dragon Age or Dragon Age 2. However, I do like to borrow their characters for awhile because face it, Bioware does make some good ones.

**Author's Notes: **This game gave me so many freakishly awesome story ideas, some of which I will write on in bits and pieces over time. However after going through the game a second time, this bit just jumped out at me. This story does contain spoilers for the game, so if you haven't played it, I suggest you do before reading this. Don't say I didn't warn you. Also, this story contains scenes of consensual sex between two women. If that gives you heartburn, I suggest antacids.

**Spoilers: **Dragon Age 2 (Take a wild guess what quest)

* * *

She is dead.

I stare at the fire, watching the flames dance about. I remember a dress she made for me when I was a little girl. It was blue ... the color of my eyes she said. It was a simple dress, made from materials she traded for in the main village, but I loved it. I used to prance in it for hours, spinning and twirling about like a princess.

She is dead.

The hours pass, then the days. We hold a service at the Chantry. Gamlen arranged it all, because I cannot bear to face the fact that she is gone forever. He walks around with a gaunt, haunted look on his face. He spent so much energy blaming his older sister for his problems. Now that she's gone, he doesn't know what to do. He can barely look at me – and I can't even blame him. He was right, you know. It is my fault Mother is dead.

Bethany is allowed to come to the funeral. I had to scream and fight and yell at the Templars to get that one concession. The Knight-Commander refused at first. I went to the Grand Cleric, calling in every last favor I had earned over the past four years in Kirkwall. Finally they let her attend, though she remains in the company of a full escort of Templars. I hate this. I cannot even see my own sister without permission.

I wish I had never come to Kirkwall. Surely the Blight was preferable to this.

She is dead.

The flames consume her prepared body. I insisted they wrap it for the pyre. I am grateful for that ... my mother's body has been desecrated, and I don't want to remember the horror of what I've seen. I would rather remember her as she used to be – the smells, the sounds, and the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled.

That doesn't happen, of course. I will never be able to forget what that monster did to her. I see her in my dreams, not as she used to be, but as he made her. Stitches and lines carved into her face, walking with that jilted, shuffling step of a living corpse. I cannot remember the last time I slept. But I take small comfort knowing Bethany won't have the nightmares I've endured.

She doesn't look at me during the service, nor at the pyre as my mother's remains are commended to the Maker. She stands there, weeping, as one of the Chantry sisters performs the ceremony.

_You said you'd protect her._

I can still hear her voice screaming at me. I don't blame her. I did promise to protect Mother. I promised to protect Bethany too, and Carver.

I failed them all.

She returns to the Circle, and I to the mansion. Here I wait, staring, sitting in front of the fire for an absolution that will not come.

She is dead. And I am truly alone.

The days pass, and then the weeks.

Aveline comes to me first.

"I never thought I'd be the same after Wesley died." She reaches out and touches my arm. "Hawke, I know what you're going through."

But she doesn't. Wesley died in Ferelden, in the arms of the one who loved him. My mother died at the hands of a mad man, her face removed from her body and stitched to another woman's putrid corpse.

I do not speak to her. Eventually she leaves, and I am grateful. I would rather be alone right now.

It's not to be, however. Anders is next, and if there's anything I hate worse than Aveline's stilted attempt at condolences, it's the look on that Warden's face as he offers me his compassion.

"If you need someone to talk to," his dark eyes are filled with sadness and regret. "I'm here for you."

I do not want to talk to him. All I can think about is how many of those mages I've helped him free turned to blood magic as soon as they left the Circle. I ask him to leave. I don't want his platitudes. I am angry at him, at everyone.

Fenris tries to talk to me. But the second he mentions blood magic I kick him out.

Varric never makes it past the door. I tell Bodahn to send him back. It's just as well – he has his hands full with the care of his brother. The last thing he needs is another broken soul to contend with.

Sebastian comes a few days later. He tries to talk to me about my family and his own.

"I am truly sorry for your loss," his bright eyes meet mine. "I know what it is to lose the ones you love. If there's anything I can do..."

He can't do anything. No one can. I wallow in my own grief.

Another week passes, and Merrill comes. She's nervous and shaking and I can tell she's afraid I am going to yell at her.

It is easy to take my anger out on her. She has practiced blood magic. She has consorted with demons. I lash out at her, all but accusing her of risking the death of her clan, her family. She flees the room, sobbing.

It would be easy to follow her. She doesn't deserve my anger. Merrill is a good person. I know this. But my insides are churning. There is a beast inside of me clawing to break free. It wants to tear my world apart, bring down the sky around me until all that is left is chaos.

Isabela storms angrily into the room. "What the hell did you say to Merrill?"

"Go away." My voice is hoarse. Isabela – my on again, off again lover. I can see the fire in her eyes. She does not fear me. She will pull no punches, and as she nears me I can see the fury simmering below the surface.

"I want to know why Merrill is downstairs sobbing her pretty little eyes out." Isabela snaps angrily. "What did you say to her?"

"Go away." I repeat myself, as if she cannot hear what I have already said. My anger is all I have left, and I draw it around me like a blanket.

She grabs my shoulders, her fingernails digging into my skin, refusing to relinquish her hold. I stare daggers at her.

"Merrill is a blood mage." As if that should explain everything. Isabela shakes her head in disgust.

"And this somehow makes her responsible for your mother's death?" Isabela snaps. "Hawke, you know bloody damn well that Merrill would have died trying to save your mother. She nearly did die trying to save you."

She's right, of course. I lost control that day – I fought like a demon possessed, flinging myself repeatedly into harm's way in an attempt to get my mother's killer. If it hadn't been for Merrill – if it hadn't been for everyone, I would have died down there.

The guilt gnaws at my insides, but I shove it down. The pain is too much. My eyes water, and I can see Isabela's gaze soften. She releases her death grip on my shoulders and storms off. I can hear her speaking to Merrill downstairs. Telling her I am not myself. To come back in the morning, and I will apologize.

Yes. Come back in the morning. Perhaps the pain will be less.

For a moment I believe I am alone, but then she returns to my room, her dark eyes blazing with anger.

I glare at her. Why won't she leave me alone? All I want is to wallow in my grief.

She crosses the room, closing the gap between our bodies. Her eyes narrow as she studies me for a long moment. Then she reaches up, fingertips entwining in my closely cropped hair, and pulls me into a bruising kiss.

I fight her at first, fight this. I do not want to feel, but she is relentless, kissing and nipping and sucking, biting hard enough on my lower lip to draw blood.

I try to pull away, but she resists, forcing me closer. She is strong, though you would not realize it just to look at her. Most people see only the scanty attire, the tight bodice that does nothing to shield her ample assets. But beneath that exterior she is all muscle and sinew. Well-developed muscles give hint of definition beneath her soft skin, honed by the years of sailing and endless hours of dueling.

In battle, she is my equal, moving so quickly I can scarcely follow her. One moment delivering a devastating swipe meant to disembowel an opponent, the next she's behind me intercepting a would-be assassin.

Her hand slips between my legs, pushing inward and upward until she meets resistance.

I do nothing to stop her. Despite all that has happened, I know that her touch is the only thing anchoring me to this world.

"I will not let you do this, Hawke." Her voice is filled with a thicker emotion and I wonder for a moment if she really truly cares about me. She has never given me any indication that she desires anything beyond the simple pleasures of the flesh, but her voice tonight is filled with a hint of desperation.

"I will not let you shield yourself behind these walls, throwing away everyone who has ever meant anything to you." Her eyes were hard.

"Are you any better?" I retorted, the words coming freely before I could sensor them. "Drifting from port to port, from one bed to the next, never staying in one place long enough to make a real friend. What do you know?"

Her eyes narrow in anger. "I will not let you throw your life away. You are better than this, Hawke."

It was easy to rise to the challenge. "Who do you think you are? You have absolutely no right..."

Those lips cut me off again, and this time I responded in kind. She was brutal, and I could be too. The kiss is all teeth and tongue; I rake my fingernails across her back, finding purchase in her clothes. I pull hard, hearing the satisfying rip of the linen being torn in two.

She would kill me later for destroying these clothes, but for now we come together hungrily. Her kisses trail down my neck, marking me, and I feel myself arch into her touch.

I need this now, the pain. It is the only thing anchoring me to this world.

She shrugs out of the tattered remains of her clothes, using her dagger to relieve me of mine, and we meet again hungrily. I hiss at the contact of skin upon skin, whimpering as her hand forces it's way between our bodies none-too-gently, and I gasp at the pain of the intrusion.

Our coupling is hard and fast. She is not gentle, nor does she coddle me, and I find myself forced to confront the demons of my past. For the first time in weeks I felt something beyond that mind numbing emptiness that has been my existence.

I surrendered to the pleasure – to the pain – feeling her fingernails drag across my back as I scream her name into the night. Tears stream down my cheeks as it all comes crashing down around me and I am reduced to a whimpering, blubbering child.

Surprisingly enough, she remains, holding me as I let it all go. I mourn for a father long dead and for a brother whose life had been snuffed out far too soon. For a sister who now hates me and will forever be deprived of her freedom. I cry for the mother I will never see again.

My pirate queen doesn't speak, and when I finally manage to look up, it is to an uneasy expression. I can see the conflicting emotions swirling behind those murky depths.

She has never allowed herself to love, but this is as much out of her control as my mother's life was in mine.

And all that remains, after the sorrow, the tears, is that tiny spark of life.

That hope.


	2. Stay

_Author's Note: This one-shot was intended to stand alone on its own merits. In fact, it had been destined for a prompt on the KMeme, but somewhere along the line it turned into a sequel for the "When All That Remains." So I've opted to include it as a special bonus to all of my dedicated readers._

_I doubt there will be a third chapter, but I've been known to be wrong before – Isabela can be very insistent._

_Very, very, insistent._

* * *

**Stay**

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

Hawke stood facing the wall, her face carefully shielded from Isabela's view. She had not bothered to remove her gore-encrusted armor; in fact, she hadn't bothered to do much of anything since they'd left the warehouse by the docks. Including speaking to her on-again, off-again lover and partner in crime.

Needless to say, Isabela was furious.

"We had a plan, Hawke," the pirate ground out. And it had been a good one too. Castillon had deserved to be humiliated, to have his ship stolen from right beneath his nose. He had tormented her for years (years!), sending her scurrying back and forth in search of the damn Qunari relic that had never been his to begin with. She had lost her ship, her pride and her joy — against the rocks of this god-forsaken land, and still he had sought retribution for the crime of freeing his slaves.

Isabela seethed, amber eyes narrowing at the memories.

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

_It had taken nearly a dozen of them to subdue her, and at least that many lay dead or dying in a circle surrounding her, having met whatever pitiful deity they worshipped at the end of her daggers. One of them had grabbed her arms, twisting her wrists out painfully while another kicked at her knees, forcing her to kneel on the blood-slicked cobblestones._

_One of them attempted to shove a gag in her mouth, a dirty, putrid shred of cloth that had probably seen better days next to a latrine. The Rivaini snarled, snapping at his fingers, smiling in grim satisfaction when she was rewarded by a high-pitched scream._

_One of her captors lashed out with a gloved hand, hitting her several times across the head. The first blow wrenched her neck violently towards one side, sending the small portion of flesh captured between her teeth flying. The second caused stars to explode behind her eyelids. The third split her upper lip._

_"Stop."_

_Isabela, who had been bracing for the next anticipated blow, twisted abruptly in the direction of the new sound. She blinked several times through watery eyes as the source of the command came into focus, scowling as the boyishly handsome figure emerged into view._

_"Isabela...I am terribly disappointed." Castillon crouched languidly in front if her. "You cost me a great many sovereigns."_

_"We had a deal." Damn it, it hurt to talk. The light brown eyes lifted, glaring at the Antivan with more than a little loathing, spitting a bit of blood at his feet. "I don't do slaves."_

_A deep baritone laugh greeted that particular pronouncement, the Antivan merchant glancing back and forth between his men, who as if on cue began to laugh raucously._

_"How unfortunate for you." Castillon patted her none-too-gently on her cheek. "You should really try it sometime, not that you'll live to do so, mind you. There is nothing better than the smell of untouched elf-flesh."_

_Castillon rocked to his feet, glancing down at his captive with callous disregard. "Kill her — take her head and put it on a pike. Toss her body to the sea."_

_One of the men began to move towards her, brandishing a wickedly curved knife with a serrated edge. Her breath quickened. She really, really did not want to die. Not for this. She fought back a rising tide of panic. She would not plead for mercy, Castillon would not be moved, but perhaps an even exchange…_

_"I can make it worth your while." She said evenly, her calm outward appearance completely at odds with the odd fluttering in her stomach as the knife began its descent._

_"Unless you have fifty thousand sovereigns, we are finished." Castillon didn't deign to look back, waving his hand errantly over his head in dismissal._

_One of them grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, baring her neck. Isabela closed her eyes, swallowing up the remainder of her pride in desperation._

_"I know where the Tome of Koslun is. It's worth ten times that."_

_Castillon froze._

_Isabela screwed her eyes tightly shut, bracing for the inevitable end._

_Then his breath was hot on her face. "And how did you find this out, my pretty Rivaini whore?" Isabela opened her eyes, meeting the intrigued gaze of the slaver lord._

_"I came across it at last port." The truth was she had plied the information off a pretty serving girl who had heard it third hand from a Chevalier in Orlais. Maker, that girl had been good with her tongue._

_The tip of a blade pressed against her throat, a tiny droplet of blood forming at its tip._

_"If you kill me, you'll never learn the truth." She allowed a bit of the hardness to creep back into her voice. Of course, he could torture her for the information, but she would sooner bite off her own tongue than give up her one and only playing card. And Castillon knew that._

_The knife pressed a bit harder._

_"It's suicide to try to retrieve it..." She was really forming the plan in her mind as she spoke, but Castillon didn't need to know that. "But I know where it is..." A lie. "I can get it for you, but you let me walk free." Her eyes opened, matching his hardened expression. "No questions asked."_

_"You are not in a position to bargain." Castillon's voice was cold, impassive._

_"And your suppliers are looking for their fair share of the profits owed from the sale of those slaves." Isabela kept her tone even. "Do you really want to return to them empty-handed?"_

_A long, silent pause, and then inexplicably, Castillon began to laugh._

_"You drive a hard bargain, Rivaini, but you have piqued my interest. I will give you a month."_

_Castillon pushed to his feet, regarding her bemusedly._

_"However, if you fail me..." The voice trailed off warningly, a meaningful glance to the man restraining her from behind._

_Isabela fought off a rising ride of panic as the dagger began to descend towards her body, twisting and arching as it slipped underneath the ties of her bodice, slicing cleanly upwards._

_"Hayder... show our Rivaini friend what we do to traitors."_

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x**

Isabela's eyes opened, allowing those memories to fade. She'd personally gutted Hayder, that bastard, in the Chantry nearly seven years ago, enacting her own revenge for what he and his friends had done to her.

But Castillon ... She had had special plans for him. She had intended to see him degraded, humiliated for all that he'd put her through. She'd wanted to watch him scurry to Antiva, tail tucked between legs, without a ship or even a silver to call his own. The death of a merchant prince.

And then Hawke had to go and bloody ruin it.

"What were you thinking?" She repeated her question, eyes narrowing as Hawke's shoulders began to shake. Bloody hell, it wasn't funny! She'd cut Castillon and his men to pieces! Captain Man Hands would be lucky to salvage a finger from the pile of bodies left strung out in her wake.

Isabela's eyes narrowed. She reached out, grabbing ahold of Hawke's shoulder, spinning the slender woman around. The blue eyes lifted, their icy depths swirling tumultuously. Hawke's lips were pressed into a thin line, her muscles twitching with tightly restraint.

"We had a plan..." The pirate snapped angrily. "Care to tell me why...?"

Hawke's lips descended upon her mouth with an uncharacteristic ferocity. Isabela blinked several times in shock, her mouth moving of its own accord, head canting to deepen the kiss even as her mind struggled to make sense of the other woman's response.

Damn it, she was still angry.

With great reluctance Isabela managed to push her away, stepping back out of the range of the other woman's groping hands. Hawke had messed up her plans big time, and she was not about to let her have her way without a damn good explanation. The Champion took a single step forward but Isabela raised her palm, eyes flashing in warning.

She halted.

"You have your ship. What more do you want?" Hawke's tone was even, but bore the barest hint of impatience, wavering slightly. Isabela tilted her head, trying to read between the lines. The Ferelden's eyes lifted in challenge, corner of lips arching into a smile. "I've never known you to turn down a good fuck."

Damn…She had a point. The amber eyes narrowed, clearly conflicted. On the one hand, Isabela mused, she should be really, really angry at Hawke for ruining her cleverly hatched plot to humiliate Castillon. On the other hand...Shit, did she really have to look at her with _those_ eyes?

The pirate took a step forward, scowling. "There better be lots and lots of mind-shattering sex to make up for this."

A confident smile spread across those all-too-adorable features. "I think I can make that happen."

Isabela's eyes narrowed, her mind already beginning to hum with anticipation. "Oh, you bet you will." Closing the distance quickly, the pirate captured the other woman's wrists in her arms and pinned them against the wall, mouth eagerly seeking out that pair of absolutely luscious lips, attacking them with increasing urgency.

The wrists tensed under her grip, testing the pirate's resolve, and Isabela's lips trailed their way to Hawke's ear, latching on and drawing the tender flesh into her mouth. A low groan issued from the captive throat, resistance melting away as Hawke surrendered to the deliberate assault, allowing the pirate to once again take the lead.

And take control she did. Determined to make Hawke bloody well pay for her earlier slip, the pirate quickly captured control of her wrists to a single hand, free fingers deftly plucking at the ties on her robe, letting her fingers brush tantalizingly over bare skin.

Gasping, Hawke's back pushed into the touch, neck arching back to expose those long, lean lines. The pirate's lips trailed down those curves, finding and latching onto the pulse point, humming slightly at the surge of warmth just underneath the skin.

"Bela..." came the breathy moan, drawing a small smile of satisfaction from the pirate as she pushed the slightly taller woman towards the large four-poster bed centered against the far wall. Within short order Hawke's hands were secured above her head with the belt from her robes, the remaining fabric slightly opened, showing just the barest hint of a breast.

A knowing, seductive grin passed over the pirate's features, her mouth suddenly dry at the thought of spending endless hours ravishing the bound woman. Hawke's eyes were screwed tightly shut, face flushed, swollen lips parted slightly as she pulled at her bound hands.

In short, she was completely at the pirate's mercy. And she damned well was going to take full advantage of it. Pressing her lips to Hawke's throat, sampling the oh-so-delectable skin there, Isabela allowed her hands to wander, fingers brushing against the exposed skin, a low, delightful laugh escaping her lips as the muscles twitched under the feather light caresses and Hawke's body arched into the touch.

"I am going to spend hours ravishing you," The lips trailed downward, feathering over the swell of a breast, the pirate's body positively thrumming from unspent passions and battle lust. "But first…" A tongue quickly darted over the hardened nipple.

"But first … wha?" Hawke gasped as Isabela's fingers trailed up her inner thigh, fingernails tracing circles in the skin as it headed for points further north. A feral smile drew across the pirate's features – while she herself required a firmer hand, it had not taken long to discover exactly how to drive the oft-insatiable rogue mad with desire.

A pair of full lips drew close to the Ferelden's ear, giving the delicate flesh a light nip.

"But first…" a gasp as her fingers slipped inside the velvety warmth, "...you're going to answer my earlier question…" hips jerked involuntarily, breasts arching towards the pirate's waiting lips. Isabela chuckled, drawing away.

"Please…" came the breathy reply, Hawke's eyelids fluttering shut. "Whatever you want."

"Then tell me…" Isabela murmured, brushing her lips against the hardened peak, "…why you didn't stick with our original plan?"

The rogue's body went absolutely rigid. The pirate's hand stilled, realizing almost immediately that she had pressed too hard.

"Untie me." The amber eyes darted back and forth in response to the demand, searching Hawke's own lighter eyes, her heart sinking at her lover's pinched expression.

Shit, she was absolutely serious. Frowning, Isabela rolled off that tantalizing body, hands tugging gently at the belt that held her lover's arms above her head. The dark-haired rogue rolled over immediately, drawing her knees against her chest. Her body was more tightly wound than a Chantry priestess, and the Rivaini chewed on her lip guiltily.

Okay, so perhaps it hadn't been the best move, though damn it, it had always worked before (and in far more difficult situations, Isabela mused, recalling one particular noblewoman who had required hours of such teasing before she had revealed her innermost secrets). She wasn't good at this — all these feelings and the pillow talk and...

Why did relationships have to be so bloody complicated? And did Hawke _have_ to sport that wounded Mabari look?

After a brief hesitation, Isabela slipped into the bed behind her the rogue, cautiously resting her hand on Hawke's bicep, relieved when she didn't pull away.

"Hawke, I..." Why was it so hard to say those blasted words? Her tanned eyelids closed briefly. "Hawke, I'm sorry." There, she'd said it. "I shouldn't have done that."

The sound of ragged breathing was her only response.

Isabela sighed as she pulled away. The rejection hurt far more than it should have, but then again, Hawke had this damnable talent for affecting her in ways she shouldn't. It was her own fault, really, for falling for the Ferelden in the first place.

There it was – the awful truth.

She was in love with Hawke.

The amber eyes flashed to Hawke's back, silently willing the taciturn woman to respond – to scream – to do anything but lay there like a virgin in an Antivan brothel.

Nothing. She didn't even shift.

Conceding defeat, Isabela turned to leave, her heart heavy. The second her hand touched the door, however, the harsh whisper halted the Rivaini in her tracks.

"My mother."

It was an eternity before Isabela found the strength to speak. "Your…mother?" She drawled, slowly turning around to face her lover. Hawke was still huddled on the bed, but she was shivering violently. The pirate's eyes fluttered closed. Every instinct she had was screaming for her to leave – to get away from Hawke and her bloody emotions and a relationship that made her believe she wanted _more_ ... Instead, she took one step, then another, reluctantly making her way back to Hawke's side.

No doubt about it – things had changed. _She_ had changed. And she wasn't entirely certain it was for the better.

Isabela's pulse was racing as she slipped onto the bed beside her lover, resting an arm on Hawke's tightly wound shoulder, bracing once more for the sting of rejection. To her complete and utter amazement, the rogue turned over, arms wrapping around Isabela's waist, burying her forehead into the hollow of her tanned neck.

She winced at the wetness against her throat. Not the tears; she could tolerate anything, _anything_ – but the sight of a woman crying. Well – tears of ecstasy – those she could handle. Still, she doubted this was one of those moments and unless Hawke harbored some very inappropriate thoughts regarding her own mother, these tears were of a different source.

Isabela was ashamed to admit she had not been present when Leandra had died. She had, in fact, been in the middle of chasing a lead regarding Castillon's damn relic. It had proved fruitless, however, and she had just returned to the Hanged Man, dejected and in need of a really strong drink, when Varric had pulled her aside and told her what happened.

It had taken nearly three days before she could gather the courage to visit Hawke in her estate and offer her condolences. Just in time to see Merrill fleeing the room, reduced to tears. After confronting the elf and learning the reason for those tears (and how anyone could manage to be cruel to Merrill she wasn't certain – she was as harmless as a kitten, that one), she'd stormed into that room intent on breaking through that damnable wall the rogue was so good at building.

That had been the beginning of the end, as far as Isabela was concerned. Up until that point, it had always been about sex. About _her_ pleasure, to be more exact. But standing there, seeing Hawke so bloody_ broken_, Isabela knew she had to do _something_, anything, to get through to the woman.

Oh sure, the sex had been excellent, mind-numbingly amazing. Toe-curling. Heart-stopping.

Only it hadn't just been about sex. Not then.

And not now.

_Damn it all…_

"Hawke." Hardly more than a whisper – the words nearly caught in her throat. She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying again. "Hawke." Reaching out, she lifted the woman's chin with her finger, forcing the other woman to look into her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Hawke managed, sniffing conspicuously. "I didn't mean to…" A sigh, "When my mother was … taken." Another shudder. "We had to follow a trail. A trail of blood."

The pieces finally slid into place. "So following my trail…" That settled it. Next time she would pack extra smallclothes – bright red ones – to signal the others. Perhaps a flag…

Hawke nodded weakly. "I'm sorry. It's foolish, I know…" Her hands swiped errantly at her face, cheeks darkening slightly.

Isabela sighed, more at her own foolishness – she should have known this would happen. But the thought had honestly not crossed her mind. Even though several years had passed since her mother's death, Hawke had been deeply scarred by the incident, and had never quite forgiven herself for letting her mother die.

Long, deeply tanned fingers pressed firmly on the back of the rogue's head, drawing her forward and capturing those inviting lips. Hawke's breath caught in her throat, her body stiffening slightly under the unexpected gesture, ultimately melting into the pirate's touch.

After several long moments of exploration, Hawke drew back, sighing wistfully as she settled against the pirate's shoulder. "Would you…" A hesitant pause as the voice trailed off.

_…stay?_

Her throat went dry. It was not the first time she'd been asked that question. And if it had been anyone but Hawke, she would have been quick to rebuff the request, offering the standard witty retort while figuring out the quickest way to extract herself from what was sure to be a most uncomfortable situation.

"One time," Isabela cautioned, desperate to lighten the mood. And to get her mind off of her burgeoning feelings for the dark-headed rogue. "And don't think I'm letting you off the hook so easily for that little slip up."

A small smile lifted the corner of those adorable lips. "Oh really," the low, sultry voice practically purred. Shifting slightly, Hawke rolled until she was straddling the Rivaini's hips, blue eyes flashing with amusement.

"Then I guess," in a low tone that sent shivers up Isabela's spine. "I'd better get started."


End file.
